


A Word of Comfort

by Crypticus



Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Comfort, Fluff (kinda), Light Angst, Miles Morales Needs a Hug, Noir is an awkward Noir, but he tries so it’s all good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-15 12:28:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17528735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crypticus/pseuds/Crypticus
Summary: The advice from the experienced, to the rookie is still cryptic as ever — yet somehow comforting.





	A Word of Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> Wowie so while taking a break from my current hamnoir ‘project’ I ended up writing this. It is so short I’m sorry, was kinda just experimenting with Miles :P
> 
> Who knows, maybe after I stop procrastinating on my current project I’ll add a few more shorts pertaining to Noir’s relationships with the others ‘n whatnot here wheeze.

Shit, _shit_ , **_shit_** —

 Miles’ blood felt like it was on fire. The searing heat that was flowing through his veins, it was ruthless — stronger, and more ferocious than a raging forest fire.

 “Gotta— I need... No, no I have to—“ his throat seemed to close up, and Miles could feel his heart dance frantically to some vicious, unknown beat, while the resounding ‘thud’ echoed in his ears. “Just—“

 Miles couldn’t speak, his words were a jumbled mess. This frustrated him to no end, as panicked eyes stared down at a black and red suit.

 Red.

 There was red splattered on parts of the fabric where that color shouldn’t be. Miles wanted to throw up, as the distress he felt grew and grew. He could see an accusing glare from blank eyes, staring right at him from the liquid on his suit. His heart rate managed to increase exponentially at that.

_“You’re the best of all of us, Miles.”_

 The young hero’s heart seemed to skip a beat or two, and he glanced around. He was alone, dear lord he didn’t want to be alone, not with that painfully familiar voice saying those damn words — mocking him, as he lay on his bed staring at his tainted suit.

 There was a knock on Miles’ door, and he tensed. _Don’t stutter_ , he thought to himself. “Y-Yes?”

 _Damnit._  
  
 Miles wiped at the dampness on his cheeks as he cursed inwardly.

 “Kid?” Ah, that was Noir.

 Miles tried to compose himself, really, he did. The teenager wasn’t quick enough though, as there was the tell-tale sign of the man on the other side turning the knob before the door swung open with a squeak-like sound.

* * *

 Now, Noir didn’t have anything in specific that he expected to see after opening the door. Honestly, the detective didn’t really know why he came up here — there was just that strong feeling in his gut. One Noir knew better than to ignore.

 Regardless, the sight he saw made Noir feel relieved that he did listen to that gut feeling to go check up on Miles.

 The young rookie-hero was distressed, that much was obvious. What with his hunched over posture, the ways Miles’ shoulders seemed to shake, along with the clear signs of tears drying on his face. But it wasn’t just that which caught Noir’s attention, no, not at all.

 It was the tight, trembling grip the kid had on his suit. Along with the red stains on his hands, just barely visible in the dim lighting.

 Not to mention, that haunted look in Miles’ normally youthful and energetic eyes.

 It was a kind of look Noir would know all too well himself, from personal experience. But more importantly, it was something Noir knew he needed to get Miles to squash– before it grew into something else much more uglier. It was with that thought on mind, that led Noir to enter the room fully before closing the door and making his way to the foot of the bed. Now that the detective was closed, he could see the red stains on Miles’ suit and hands easier. It also seemed to be imprinted into the kid’s bedsheets.

 Understanding dawned upon him, and Noir moved to sit on the bed when he saw and heard no sign of objection from the kid. He noted how Miles seemed to avoid eye contact.

 This tense silence seemed to last for hours, before the kid spoke up.

 “Does it... Ever go away?” Miles cleared his throat, voice small as he spared a glance to the detective for a split-second. He fiddled with the suit held in his hands, waiting for an answer.

 Noir mulled over the question, thinking about how to answer it. “Depends, Miles.” He finally settled for that, before shaking his head and continuing on. “It goes away when you... Well, learn to let it go.” He chose his words carefully. Then he made an offer, without thinking. “Something in specific troublin’ you?”

 Miles stared at the man, seeming startled by the question. However the distressed bewilderment seemed to soften, when he read the hesitant offer behind those few words.

 The words seemed to burst out from him, and it took Miles a moment he actually had taken up Noirs offer.

 They just kept coming, and the fire that simmered throughout his body seemed to lessen as Miles vented.

 He spoke of things he’d never told anyone else. He admitted to that painful, self-loathing he felt under the pressure of being the new Spider-Man. He spoke of the events that had taken place earlier today, of a mistake which resulted in a child in the hospital, of the bitter glare that child’s mother sent his way. Then Miles backtracked to the child again, venting about to look of wonder the kid had, and how it had changed so quickly to horror before they were knocked out.

 Miles hand grips the suit tightly when he mentions that last part, he hadn’t even realized it’d relaxed in the first place.

 Noir says nothing, choosing to remain silent and listen. It’s something Miles extremely grateful for, especially when the conversation takes a sudden turn down a more rocky path — the topic of Aaron Davis, Miles’ uncle.

 Well, perhaps to others the man would be simply known as the Prowler. But not to Miles, despite the realization of his uncle’s other identity. Aaron Davis would always, in the end, be just that. Miles’ uncle, his friend, someone who Miles felt had understood him better than anyone.

 Someone who was _gone_.

 Because of **him**.

 There’s little beads of liquid building up at the corner of Miles’ eyes, when he mentions about that last part. That’s when Noir speaks up, voice firm as he turns to stare at the kid.

 “Look, Miles— I won’t beat ‘round the bush, you really need to stop thinking like that.” Blunt, perhaps a bit too straightforward, but in Noir’s opinion it’s a truth Miles needs to be told. “That thinkin’ right there? Recipe for disaster, Kid. And sure, I don’t know your uncle well but—“ Noir pauses to choose his next words wisely. “Based on what you’ve told me, your uncle probably wouldn’t the way you’re thinkin’ right now.”

 Miles goes to respond immediately, Noir can already hear the protests the kid is about spew. He holds up a finger, and Miles’ shoulders sag. The detective can’t help the sad, yet also amused smile hidden behind his mask. “Just hear me out.”

 The young hero nods reluctantly. Noir sighs quietly, before going to speak.

 “Trust me Kid, I would know more than anyone else here. Mostly,” the man mutters. “I get it, I know the guilt and shame you’re feeling. It’s the kind that consumes you, never leaving you alone. It haunts you, both in the real world and in your dreams. It’s that little voice in your mind, which whispers all your flaws— reminding you of all of the ‘mistakes’ you’ve made. It’s those things you see, or hear, taste, and so on, that aren’t there. In short, it’s a true... Hell, as you’d put it.” Noir tips his hat just a bit more forward, so it better covered his masked face.

 The detective shakes his head slightly, seeming to push away some thoughts before turning his attention back to the teenager sitting quietly beside him.

 “Look, what I’m trying to say here is... I understand, to a certain degree at least, the pain you’re feeling. Everyone here does, in their own way. And we just— I want you to know, and I speak on behalf of the others when I say that we care for you, Kid.” Noir shifts as he says that last part. The detective obviously sounds uncomfortable saying that, but Miles knows he’s being genuine — it causes a grateful warmth to sweep through the teens mind.

The teenager does the only thing he can think of. He moves forward with purpose, letting go of his suit entirely to hug the man.

 It’s a bit awkward, and Noir seems surprised. But he doesn’t push the teenager away, rather the detective hesitantly returns the hug.

 Like mentioned before, the hug is awkward, but Miles appreciates Noir accepting and even returning the much needed embrace. “Thanks, Noir.” The kid mutters, and it takes the detective a moment to respond.

 

 

 “Think nothin’ of it, Miles.”


End file.
